Remember that last post about how apt our naming was? True story. Just as in the play for which she's named, after the storm comes new life and new love.
Our sweet little Tess has just about finished up an epic growth spurt of clingy, roaring, vomitous fun. 5-6 weeks old? GOOD TIMES. She's stronger than I ever thought possible for someone so small and there's a new spark in her bright grey eyes that says, "Heck yes, I'm growing. Look out, brave new world!" Makes it all worthwhile to see her smile at me of her own volition - this is no reflex - and mimic my facial expressions with great enthusiasm. She sucks her thumb now, grabs onto my shirt/hair/breasts with incredible force, and even makes cooing noises to the owl we have hanging on the side of her crib. In short, a new little personality is emerging after doing battle with some epic reflux, gas pains, and general separation anxiety. She still loves to be cuddled and kept close and yes, we do still have days where there are three outfit changes apiece for us -- even Oscar wasn't spared the splash zone -- but now that we have this night shift thing more or less down, it's getting easier.
Believe me: some nights I really did think I was about to be shipped off to Bellevue because she just would not, could not calm down. No amount of cuddling, soothing or freaking milk would soothe her. ("I'm a mother, not a magician, Jim. I canna do it, Captain!!!") But somehow, we made it through, as new parents eventually do. Wee Tess is still the absolute loudest infant I have ever heard. She's Broadway bound with those pipes! I don't know where she gets her belt voice. Neither I nor her father were particularly vocal babies. I see these flashes of what life with a mouthy three year old will be like and I laugh because oh baby, paybacks...I didn't really speak until I was that old.
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